


I solemnly swear, that I’m not responsible!

by Aleonoria



Category: Rivers of London - Ben Aaronovitch
Genre: Doctor Who References
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-11
Updated: 2018-10-11
Packaged: 2019-07-24 00:30:44
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,127
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16169903
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aleonoria/pseuds/Aleonoria
Summary: It was truly not a walk in the park to be a magician's apprentice, especially when something unpredictable happens.He knew that he had made mistakes and had not acted according to the Code of Conduct.But this time he really, really wasn’t guilty!





	I solemnly swear, that I’m not responsible!

**Author's Note:**

> This story is a first one in multiple ways.  
> It's my first (and probably also only) story in this fandom, it's also my first story not translated but directly writen in English.
> 
> The event mentioned (the draining of the river) happens in the NewWho Episode "The runaway bride". I just can't watch this episode and think "what if..."

* * *

 

To be an apprentice for the high craft of magic was not easy, in truth it was rather fucking hard. That much Peter Grant, Police Constable of the London Metropolitan Police, had learned in recent months. And he knew that he had made mistakes and had not acted according to the Code of Conduct.  
But this time he really, really wasn’t guilty!  
He had done nothing, but explaining this to his superior and master of the magic arts Thomas Nightingale seemed impossible.

 

It all started with a rather pissed off Nightingale chasing him out of the coach house, where he worked on HOLMES for some information. In the foyer under the disapproving eyes of Isaac (sorry, Sir Isaac), Chief Inspector Nightingale waited for him, wearing one of his impeccable bespoke suits, his hands behind his back.  
“Constable Grant, didn’t I keep explaining that the use of magic must be controlled and one must be careful?”  
“Yes, sir.” For fuck’s sake, Nightingale used the police rank. Shit hit the fan, whatever it was.  
“All day I talked to Father and Mother Thames. The gods and goddesses of the river are freaking out! And all because someone had the great idea to drain the river. Lady Ty’s been here three times! Do you have any idea what that means?” Peter nodded slowly. He had a really good idea because Lady Ty was fucking scary. “Good. Then see that you find a way to correct your mistake. The agreement is in grave danger!”  
There it was again. The all-powerful but top-secret agreement. The rules he had to follow without knowing exactly what they were. He... Wait a minute! His fault? He wasn’t aware he had done something wrong... Except maybe testing how many computers he could made explode at the same time. But it wasn’t something that could cause the pissed off gods of the river.  
“But, sir. I didn’t...”  
“I don’t care! You will go to Mother and Father Thames and apologize. I have to mention she’s even angrier. That's not like telling Miss May about your training when you made the oath you wouldn’t. This is not like the destruction of Convent Garden during the riot with the help of a junior goddess. You’ve drained the basis of their power! I don’t know how you do it. But you will clear up this mess with everyone involved!”  
Nightingale turned around and went upstairs leaving a confused apprentice behind.  
When Peter heard a hiss from the shadows, he looked around and saw a rather angry Molly staring at him with bare teeth.  
“It wasn’t me!”  
She shook her head and glided back into the kitchen.  
Peter shrugged his shoulders and returned to the outbuilding. He had better things to do than apologizing for something he hadn’t done. They’d get over it.

 

It was almost a week later when he realized that his boss and the gods would not simply get over it. It seemed that his insistence that he had done nothing wrong had once again violated part of the agreement. The one part that says that despite the fact that he was not near the river nor had practiced any magic at the relevant time, he had to be responsible. Simply because he was the magician’s apprentice.  
It came to the point where Molly refused to do his laundry and the meals contained only enough for Nightingale and Toby, much to the dog’s delight. And trying to get something in one of the city's many restaurants or pubs he could afford showed him how many people in London knew about the agreement and his alleged violation of it. He became a leper, a persona non grata! Although the idea of draining a river was pretty cool. As long as it wasn't the Thames, the Rhine or the Mississippi or...

 

 

He was actually learning his declensions and was thinking about applying for asylum with his parents towards the end of the week when Molly appeared on the top of barn’s stairs and holding a small piece of paper in her pale hand. She threw it in his direction, almost cutting his cheek and disappeared as quietly as she had come. He looked at the letter and recognized Nightingale’s clear handwriting. In it, a place and a time were mentioned. The place was not far from the Teddington obelisk, the point that marked the boundary between the realms of Father and Mother Thames. He swallowed and feared that he would now be cursed to be Lady Ty’s next chewing toy.  
It was clear that this was a summit or a trial.  
But he couldn’t not go. That would be the even faster end of him.  
Knowing there was no way he could skip this meeting, he put on his best clothes, took the car out of the barn and drove the 24km from the Square to the meeting, each kilometre emotionally worse than the one before.

 

Slowly he was nearing the riverbank, where three people were waiting, who could not be more different in appearance and style, but all radiated undeniable power.  
Mother Thames, who could certainly sit together with his mother and her sisters and philosophize about the Sierra Leonine homeland.  
Father Thames, his Roman-Celtic origins were still evident and his connection with the earth on which he stood practically radiating out of every pore.  
And finally, Thomas Nightingale, a man of whom no one knew exactly how old he really was, looking like he was in his late forties, but had witnessed several battles in the Second World War, seeming like a typical London banker.  
His boss stood between the river gods, acting as a buffer, but visibly uncomfortable in his skin. He cleared his throat, squinted first to Father then to Mother Thames.  
“Constable Grant, we have to apologize. According to the latest findings, you were indeed not responsible for the incident involving the river.”  
He was saying that all that time, ain’t he? And no one wanted to believe him. Peter was so relieved not ending as toy - or frog - that he almost missed what happened next.  
The two gods briefly bowed their heads and then disappeared towards two of the cars parked not far away.  
Before Peter could find out what the hell had just happened, Nightingale came near, pressed a letter into his hand, got into the Jaguar and drove off to London.

 

The paper was slightly tattered at the edges, but still of good quality. The lettering seemed as if someone had written it down in quite a hectic pace, just as if the author could hardly keep his feet on the mark and was always on the run.

 

_“I apologize for any inconvenience caused. Yours sincerely, the Doctor.”_

 

Peter frowned.  
„Doctor Who?“

 

 

 


End file.
